John-Lock'ed Away
by cahyniox
Summary: Can one really stay mad for that long?


John? -SH

Yes, Sherlock? -JW

Make me a sandwich? -SH

I can't believe this. I know for a fact you're still in your bloody room. -JW

But it's soooooo far awaaaayyyyyyyy -SH

It's down the hall... -JW

—

Sherlock, you're down the bloody hall. -JW

I'm busy. -SH

Busy? Doing what? You've been holed up in your room for the entire morning. -JW

—

Do I even want to know? -JW

It's for an experiment. -SH

—

Do be a dear and make me a sandwich. -SH

—

Don't be daft John. -SH

—

If absolutely don't feel like it, get Mrs. Hudson to do it. -SH

I'm not going to bother Mrs. Hudson to have her make you a sandwich. -JW

—

And did you really just call me dear? -JW

Then make it yourself. -SH

—

Problem? -SH

Yes, master. Want me to wear the apron too? -JW

It doesn't matter who makes it. I need it NOW. -SH

Fine, I'll make you the bloody sandwich. -JW

If it requires red pants, then yes. -SH

—

Now John, I need it now! -SH

Oh God. -JW

—

Stop being so impatient, I'm making it. Don't you hear me in the kitchen puttering about? -JW

I'm dying of boredom. -SH

BOREDOM?! I thought you were conducting some experiment? -JW

—

—

—

Sherlock? -JW

I can't hear over all the boredom. -SH

—

I can't conduct an experiment without my product. -SH

You're not actually hungry? -JW

Seriously John, -SH

—

You know I don't like to repeat myself twice. -SH

—

Don't forget about the swiss. One centimeter precisely. -SH

—

—

—

Fine. I'll make it myself, since no one competent can do so. -SH

—

—

—

You're such a big girl's blouse. -SH

—

—

—

* * *

John huffed and bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself from shouting in frustration and ignoring the rest of the message beeps coming from the back pocket of his jeans. He finished the sandwich and even cut it diagonally, remembering how Sherlock liked it.

"You must have been an absolute joy as a child," he muttered to himself sarcastically as he stepped through the hallway. "Alright Sherlock, here's your sandwich. Is there anything else, your majesty?"

"I asked for swiss, not pepper jack." Sherlock paused. "Make me another one," Holmes said as he pushed the sandwich back at John.

Watson narrowed his eyes. "That's what you get, for asking someone else to make you a sandwich. Now, you'll either have this or you can make another yourself."

He shoved the sandwich back towards Sherlock.

The consulting detective threw back a disdainful look before narrowing his eyes.

"You didn't sleep last night."

Watson chuckled in Sherlock's face, took the sandwich back, grabbed a half and bit into it.

"Suit yourself." He continued chewing. "And no, I didn't. Not so well, actually."

Appalled, Holmes abruptly stood up, ripping the sandwich out of John's hands throwing it to the ground, leaving only a small fragment of white flour bread in his fingers.

"Now no one can have the sandwich," said Sherlock, trying to get back at John. "Get that smirk off your face."

"Wrong," John said in an uncharacteristically low voice to impersonate Sherlock.

**_"There's one half left."_**

Touché.

"You want it? This or nothing, Sherlock." He did not wipe the smirk off his face, just to spite the detective. "Hey, I've got a question. How do you know about what pants I have?"

Sherlock's voice dropped an octave down, grumbling to himself. He took the sandwich from John and stuffed the other half in his mouth.

"You might as well break it off with Tiffany if you're having second doubts. You're sleep deprived because of her."

Sherlock swallowed, making his speech more coherent.

"And if you're wondering, yes. She's cheating on you with the _milk man_." Sherlock wiped away the crumbs off his mouth.

John shifted on his legs, slowly stopped chewing, and sighed softly.

"I'm not even surprised."

John sat on the edge of Sherlock's bed, looking defeated as he took another bite of his half of the sandwich. Sherlock was right, of _course_ the man was right. Still didn't mean the feeling was going to disappear.

"What's wrong with me?" he said aloud, "I can't keep a girlfriend, and according to you, I always seem to choose the worst ones."

"I'm chuffed actually. She takes a whole new level of stupid to greater heights. She even makes Anderson look like a genius." Oblivious to John's feeling, Sherlock continued, "Really John, I'm quite appalled with your taste of women. And cheese. How do you stand the atrocious after taste of pepper jack? I'm quite disappointed."

Watson looked up him. First it was his taste in women, and now it was the food. There was a menacing look in his navy blue gaze and he tilted his head just slightly.

"Bit not good, yeah. I ought to shove this sandwich in your face. Right now. But you know what? I think it'll have more effect if I just ignored you for a bit."

Picking up the plate and dropping it on Sherlock's nightstand, causing it to bounce around before settling, John said, "Enjoy."

Watson exited the room, going down the hallway slamming the door to his bedroom to try and get some sleep. He's been on edge for a while now.

Sherlock ran after John realizing the pain that he caused. He heaved a heavy sigh before knocking on the door, John's door. The detective smiled to himself. He has John to himself again.

"Please understand that I'm not accustomed to such...emotion. I never intended to hurt you in the slightest bit."

John sighed and and turned over on his bed, laying on his stomach and adjusting his pillow so his head was beneath it.

"I said I was ignoring you Sherlock, remember? Now go, _away_."

It was a moot point, he knew Sherlock was going to do the exact opposite. But just then, the brunette's words filtered through the door and John arched a dark blond brow, turning so he was at the door.

**He was, _apologizing?_**

Placing his head against the door, Sherlock couldn't help but think. What if John found someone else, someone better than him? The thought of John being with another human being gutted him stomach inside out. Maybe in another life the detective could finally understand what emotion truly is, and maybe then John could love Sherlock for him.

"Please John, let me in."

Watson slowly slid off his bed, walked to the door, and placed his ear on the wood. He couldn't hear anything, but he knew Sherlock was still there, he could feel him on the other side. he unlocked the door and slowly drew it open.

"Sherlock..."

He sighed, unable to stay mad at the detective for long.

Standing perfectly straight, Sherlock adjusted the collar of his dress shirt storing his longing deep inside his mind palace.

"Forgive me John?

Sherlock stepped inside, observing his flatmate's room. Rustled sheets, books scattered across the room. Sherlock turned to face John.

"What did she do to you?" Holmes paused, "Why her?"

_And not me? _he thought.

John stepped aside for Sherlock, letting him in, unsure why. He was astonished Sherlock was apologizing. How was the man so persuasive? Maybe it was those eyes. He could manipulate anyone with those eyes, large and brilliant. He stared at his flatmate, opened his mouth but nothing came out, so he shut it. He rubbed a hand down his face an sighed softly.

"It's alright Sherlock."

At the other question, he flushed.

"Yeah, about that. Well, we sort of, I mean we were getting a bit...ugh, if you must know. Things didn't at all go that well. In bed. Last night.

_That was a disaster,_ Watson thought. He couldn't let on that he'd said Sherlock's name when things had just been about to "heat up".

What had he been _thinking_.

Sherlock could see the look in his eyes, read his body language like a line in the newspaper.

_Anxiety? Nervous? What reason would John have to be nervous around _me_? _Sherlock thought.

A minor slip of the tongue. Well, major really. What did it really say about him? And Watson did not like that look Sherlock was giving him right now, it was far to calculating for his liking.

Trying to connect the dots, the way the books were strategically strewn, the sheets messed in a concise manner, the wrinkles not set in properly. Sherlock pondered over the possibility that John could be masking the fact that he had never invited a girlfriend over, that he was appalled at the fact of losing his taste for the other sex? The clothes in the corner were freshly washed; he had witnessed it when he visited the other day.

"John."

John began to pick up the thrown books, the clothes on the floor, folding them neatly and stacking the books after seeing Sherlock's eyes dart around like they do in crime scenes. The military man in him never left. He was as "tidy" as ever.

"What?"

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He was never officially diagnosed, but it always glimmered everytime he appeared. _Exclusively_ when he appeared. Like a murderer repeating the same mistake over and over again. This wasn't some form of OCD, he was trying to make an impression.

"When was the last time you took Tiffany out to the city?"

The ground beneath John shook at Sherlock's question and he abruptly turned, a plaid button up, halfway folded and he stared at Sherlock.

"I..."

There was _nothing_ he could keep from Sherlock. How will this affect him, did Sherlock care? He could see that the man had questions, that he had speculations and deductions based on what answers John gave, whether it was the truth or not. John sighed audibly and sat on the edge of the bed, much how he had on Sherlock's own not too long ago.

Defeated once more.

"Two months ago..."

He admitted. It was two months ago, he'd whispered Sherlock's name in bed with her, two months ago, he'd seen her. They haven't talked since.

"Who knew women could be so sensitive a simple name could falter such a deep relationship," Holmes blurted out out of the blue.

"How-"

John, at this point gave up, but even still. He was impressed. Confused at how Sherlock could have possibly come up with the conclusion. Even after all this time. It still surprised him.

"Sherlock, that's, it's not- I'd have felt the same way if she'd said someone else's name with me."

At least if it was someone he cared about, saying someone else's name in bed.

"It isn't right."

The gravity of what he'd just said caught up with him. He couldn't admit it. Not aloud. What was there to admit anyway. Sherlock already knew.

Surely.

How John stuttered was clearly an obvious clue, a wine stain not completely bleached off in the wash.

Caught him.

There he was, the hare caught in the trap.

Sherlock dared to move a step forward. All the evidence aligned perfectly with each other. The sniper awaits his target at the park bench.

To shoot or not to shoot.

**_Bam._**

"Sherlock?"

John clearly couldn't read Sherlock's mind. All he knew was that the man looked intent. On him, it seemed.

Sherlock proceeded to sit at John's study, opening up his pose to lure him further into the inescapable labyrinth. He slid over to John's mattress with finesse. He reached over to John. Holmes was sitting on John's bed with a curious gleam in his eye that John was unable to ignore. He felt his feet move forward toward the man perched on the edge of his bed, until he eventually stood in front of the detective, looking down at him.

"Sherlock."

The name was barely above a whisper as it left his lips. Much like it had been when he breathed it into Tiffany's ear, two months prior.

Sherlock had painted the picture, the final stroke of paint in an intricate portrait. He knew that Tiffany had asked him. She had asked him the _question_.

"Oh how sweet," he nearly inaudibly whispered, his voice blending in with the roar of the climate control.

John's eyes blinked after a long moment, Sherlock's words startling him and, since when had he moved? He was much closer to Sherlock now. John took a step back.

"S-sweet? What's sweet?"

_Shoot,_ Sherlock said in his mind, trying to contain his shock. He had not expected John to hear such a quiet response.

"That you would reply an answer to such a question," he stated as-a-matter-of-factly. He glanced at the open door looking through John as if he wasn't there.

John was utterly confused now.

"Sorry, question? What question? Sherlock, surely you know by now. I said your name. During _sex,_" he uttered.

_During? Scratch everything._ Paint over the obvious mistake, hidden but still there. He didn't even give himself time to formulate words. He reflexively drew himself to John giving him a tight hug. He withdrew, collecting thoughts on what he had just done.

John stared at Sherlock as if he'd never seem him before.

"Sherlock? What-"

He was baffled, hugged, and then immediately drawn away from and John had had enough.

"I'm, I don't know if this is awkward...God of course it is. I don't know how it wouldn't be. But I said it, alright? I- I've been having a...sexuality...crisis. I'm not gay. I know I'm not. But you? Christ, it's always you isn't it? You're just. I know, I know none of it is your area. I understand that."

He was rambling and couldn't stop now. Sherlock felt flattered at how much John understood him. He contemplated leaving but he sat down on the mattress taking his last chance. The decision of fate the shot would make before his target left the bench.

"John," Sherlock took a deep and difficult gulp, "you're irresistable," he said dragging Watson into the bed with him. He took the dominant position locking the hare in his inescapable, metal trap.

John felt himself falling forward against Sherlock, rolled onto the bed in a mess of limbs and slim handsome detective. _What was this, what is_ Sherlock...But he couldn't speak, couldn't say a thing. He was...irresistible? He was certain the other had never called someone else by that term.

"You, you don't mind..."

John understood, surprised.

Sherlock could see the thoughts roll on in his head. He didn't let a single millisecond pass. He dove right in, smothering John with his lips, Watson playing along with the game as if he was the marionette and he was the master skillfully mimicking life-like movement.

John could feel Sherlock's lips against his own quite suddenly, and that was the biggest surprise he'd had in a while. His arms automatically came up around Sherlock's neck, running his fingers into dark curls.

Sherlock kicked the door closed.

**Fin.**

* * *

**Author's Note: _This actually was a cooperation between me and two other people, one was a good friend of mine speaking from my side of the conversation and another anonymous person somewhere within my time zone. My friend and I were at each _****_other's house and we were raving over the fact that we both watched Sherlock, so we went onto Omegle and added the _Sherlock_ and _Johnlock_ tag to find other people and this is the product. Just saying, it was absolute fun._**


End file.
